Others Who Shared Everything
by Left Eye Better
Summary: Ratchet confronts Bluestreak about potential counterproductive behavior, and ends up having to assist in implementing a solution.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Others Who Shared Everything

Writer: Left_eye_better

Rating: PG-13 for Heavy Petting, and language

Characters: Ratchet, Bluestreak, and ensemble

Summary: Ratchet confronts Bluestreak about potential counterproductive behavior, and ends up having to assist in implementing a solution.

Prompt: Ratchet/Bluestreak: Fighting the Demons

Word Count: 3940 both part

Warning: Language use in the joking tl;dr summary at the end

Continuity: G1

Disclaimer: Transformers is property of Hasbro/Takara

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Ratchet cycled air in a sigh. This would be the third time he'd scheduled a meeting with the gunner since their awakening on Earth to discuss his behavior, and it seemed as though he was going to be here for the third time filling out reports instead of speaking to the younger mech as he'd intended. He had warned him. He'd told Bluestreak that this was his last chance before he decided to let Prowl in on the situation, and yet the younger mech still hadn't shown up.

Leaning forward in his seat, the medic rubbed at his chevron. His optics were no longer focused on the datapad as he thought about the Praxian. They'd met regularly since he'd been assigned to the crew that was to be on the Ark. Only the best were selected to go with their Prime. He'd received the medical file from the previous medic that had worked with him, and had utilized Hound, the tracker that had pulled the Praxian survivor from the rubble, as a resource to assist in deciphering the mech's behavior.

He could simply assume that Bluestreak's behavior was potentially derived from his natural temperament. He could just let it continue. He could drop the subject and let the younger mech continue to find false solace in the berths, arms, and for all he knew potentially the sparks of his fellow crewmechs. This wasn't something that was healthy. If Bluestreak had settled for a partner, or even two such as the twins, or frag it, had even slowed to just three regulars he may have even decided to forget the situation.

It really shouldn't have been his business what Bluestreak did in his free time, or otherwise. The medic would almost preferred to forget and plead that he had no clue of the other's actions, but he was inclined to believe that it was a resurgence of one of the personal demons that seemed to plague the gunner. Even calling Bluestreak in for an appointment wasn't to tell him to stop. Seeking comfort was a promising thing, but with how the habit seemed to be shaping these trysts it was obvious they weren't meeting the younger mech's needs and could possibly lead to other problems.

What had gotten back to him was watered down. He'd heard the talk in the rec room, and had seen how it casually changed when the marksmech entered. How his previous lovers would coax him close, and how they, more than others, would tolerate his rampant vocalizer. Ratchet palmed his chevron at the stray question of 'If the younger mech always was that talkative?' It had been suggested he was at least from the conversations, which lent support to the theory that these encounters did nothing productive for the mech.

The hour was up. Out of habit, through it wasn't necessary…especially from the upgrades in technology over time, Ratchet moved his hand from his chevron to his rounded audial on the side of his helm and activated his comlink. First he'd try the gunner just to make sure that the younger mech had in fact intentionally missed the appointment.

It took several moments for the com to be answered, but when it was Bluestreak's voice rattled forth, the gunner profusely apologizing, and explaining, and explaining. Ratchet gently cut in to the explanation. "Bluestreak, I'm still in my office. Please report in next time before I inadvertently decide to com Prowl first."

Ratchet smirked as Bluestreak again apologized, and in something between a plead and a request asked him not to call Prowl before straying to six other topics. If the chatter weren't linked to deeper and darker problems it would have almost been pleasant. The less he avidly responded to it, the faster it became, and the more stressed the vocal undercurrent continued to evolve. If the mech had been in his presence while speaking, he would have non-verbal cues to draw from at least to acknowledge his uncomfortable diagnosis.

It didn't take long for the mech to get to his medbay, looking as though he'd made a quick run through the washrack before actually arriving. The mech appeared cheerful. His doorwings were pegged high and flicked accordingly but seemed a second slow in reaction to stimuli in Ratchet's educated opinion. Water and some suds of cleaning solution still dripped of the Praxian's form. "You could have just told me you were going to stop by the washracks, and taken your time."

"But I was already an hour late. Which I'm still really, really sorry about. Today's been nuts. I was out late for a patrol and then ended up staying out later than I had expected to and didn't get to actually recharge till early this morning, and then I ended up staying in recharge longer than I usually do, and then I had to do a shift on the monitors and had to stay over cause I was late, and I hadn't had a chance to clean up from patrol last night, and well now I'm here. You wouldn't happen to have any cubes around cause I think I may have missed that in all the confusion the morning and I really should say afternoon, again I'm really sorry about that. Please tell me you didn't call Prowl." Bluestreak's speech seemed to just flow without end, prompting the medic to nod where expected till there seemed to be a possible break.

"I did not call Prowl. I should have, but I would like to think you are not deliberately avoiding speaking with me." Ratchet shot the gunner a look to state he knew that was exactly what the other had been doing. The younger mech ducked his helm sheepishly as he received the glare. The CMO's hand gently placed itself between the other's doorwings and applied pressure to direct the mech forward and toward his office. It would be best to discuss this where other crewmembers feared to tread.

Bluestreak hesitantly led the way knowing he was stuck this time. He respected the older mech. The other only wanted what was best for him, what was best for everyone. The gunner had to wonder if anybody ever thought about what was best for the red and white mech. He had automatically started practicing mind numbing rambling about the weather in this part of the nation at this time of year. Not that they had seen many years to compare it to but Earth's weather was so varied in comparison to Cybertron. At least Earth's rain didn't burn them though right?

They entered the office taking their seats as they had before. Ratchet behind the desk, and Bluestreak attempting to but never quite succeeding at making himself comfortable in the chair before the desk. "Do you have any idea what in your behavior might have caught my attention?"

The gunner never liked it when Ratchet asked him to incriminate himself, looking down at his hands he wished for once that like other's had voice time to time that he could just turn off his vocalizer but it never seemed to work especially when he was being asked to engage in conversation. "I don't know. Maybe something to do with my talking, but I've always done that it's not very new. I'm comfortable with how much I talk. Sometimes I think others get annoyed but they know I can't stop. It is just habit now. It keeps my thoughts from straying, even if the topic is something unrelated to the situation. I know it's sometimes inappropriate but I can't help it, but most people still like me so that's alright."

Ratchet held up his hand and the Praxian sat up straighter and quieted making sure to give the other a chance to speak. "Bluestreak, I'm going to get to the point. I might be holed up in the medbay, but that doesn't mean I don't know what's going on outside. I'm going to ask an intrusive question. You don't have to answer. I just ask you to think about your actions, and how you view yourself and perhaps how others will start to view you if you continue." Bluestreak nodded in compliance, and with how easy this appointment was going. "The question I have for you is, How many times, by how many different mechs do you have to be held by to know you are not alone, disliked, or whatever it is you're searching for?"

The younger mech's optics went back to his hands and his red thigh plating. He was quiet and a shiver ran up his spinal struts causing the tips of his wings to quiver. He wanted to respond back. To tell the medic that he was just having fun, that he was young and just liked the act, but as usual Ratchet's diagnosis was correct with a surgeon's precision. "I don't know, Ratchet. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be getting from, from that. I-" He held his hand in front of him. "I feel better for a moment. I don't remember, don't have to." His optics looked to the medic as the other stood.

Ratchet went through the motion of brushing nonexistent dirt from his thigh before walking over to kindly set his hand on the other mech's shoulder. He squeezed the plating in a reassuring way as their optics locked. "I said I didn't need you to answer. You don't have to explain yourself to me. I, as your friend, request that you settle for your sake with a partner or at least narrow your field. You can't find anything if you don't give yourself the chance to." While he spoke Bluestreak's hand had wandered to shyly cover his. "Come on, I'm against causing you more stress. You need to fuel and get recharge, preferably in your own berth."

Letting his hand fall from Ratchet's he shook his helm in reply to the medic's last statement. "Hound is away on mission and it's too quiet in our quarters… I keep coming out of recharge in a start." He slipped out from under the red hand on his shoulder as he stood.

Ratchet nodded familiar with the gunner's complications with recharge; it was one of the reason he'd been roomed with Hound. The caring tracker woke easily and didn't mind rousing his roommate from any ghosts or demons that plagued him in recharge even if it had earned him a dented cheekplate or two. "Take a berth in the medbay then, I'll be around and making noise. I'll have Prowl regenerate the schedule so you can recharge a full rest cycle. I think he's expecting the 'Cons to act up again soon so he'll want you ready for it." The medic's hand went to the door pad and pressed to open the sliding door for them, prompting Bluestreak to go first with a small tip of his helm in the direction.

"Thanks Ratchet, you really don't have to. I mean, I can find places to recharge, but I guess it wouldn't hurt this once. I've recharged here before, just never when I'm not well you know, missing a limb or something." He walked through the door and turned on his heel to continue engaging Ratchet walking backward to do so. "I won't mess anything up while I'm here I promise."

"I wouldn't have offered if I thought you were going to be trouble." The senior officer pointed to a line of empty berths along one of the far walls. "I'd suggest taking one of those, just so you don't get disturbed if someone comes in. Go on and I'll bring the energon over, alright?" He patted the gunner's shoulder before heading over to the cubes he'd fetched that morning for him and the science team. He could always ask Wheeljack to grab a couple more on the mech's way in from running tests on the weapon's field. Bluestreak headed over to the berths indicated with no objection, just more thanks. The gunner really was a good-sparked mech for all he'd been through; Ratchet couldn't deny that.

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Second Part to be posted Thursday!


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Decided to post this a day early in apology for a screw up causing me to have to repost the second part of 'Hope For The Best.' In attempting to fix a formatting issue, and created a bigger, dumber issue involving accidently deleting the second part of that fic and uploading the first part of this one in place of the first part of that one.

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It had become more frequent an event than Ratchet had expected. Though since it had started, he'd been visited by Hound who remarked that upon his return Bluestreak seemed a lot less on edge than usual. Ratchet had nodded and explained the arrangement receiving a chuckle from the army green tracker and another few words of thanks. Bluestreak had surprised him by showing up the afternoon of Hound's return acting slightly nervous but taking his usual berth. Ratchet didn't oust him, and didn't question him. The enlisted mech was welcomed, if it helped him.

It seemed to help, or Ratchet believed it did. The medic smirked as he smoothed a blanket over the gunner's form. It normally helped the younger mech recharge undisturbed if his temperature was consistent. His hand accidently knocked against Bluestreak's doorwing, drawing the other from recharge. He finished fussing with the blanket and apologized for waking him only to have the half-conscious mech take hold of his hand to keep him close.

"Don't worry, Ratch, I don't mind." The younger mech let go of his hand and curled tighter on his side, his blue optics shuttering.

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It became routine, as did the Praxian's general presence in the Medbay volunteering to assist in the habitual cleaning the facility needed. They'd bump into each other. They'd talk but not at a forced pace and sometimes it would just be Ratchet speaking. It was something neither of them had really noticed but it was pleasant and made First Aid chuckle when discussing the matter silently over his gestaltbond.

It hadn't been overly shocking for the Protectobot to arrive in the medbay to the sight of his mentor and the gunner to be engaged in what could be interpreted as a medical examination from an outsider to the profession but the touches were much too casual, and much too sensual. First Aid had tactfully retreated.

What the junior medic hadn't known was how surprised Ratchet had been the first time Bluestreak had made his affections known. It had been simple but precise much like the exactness needed in a sharpshooter. The CMO had been drawn into a conversation while leaning over a berth a towel in his hand and his goal being to scrub the berth clean of the contaminates but when the gunner's hands had slinked around his midsection he'd frozen. The Datsun's bumper pressed into his back paneling, and the gunner's right hand held his left hip while the right slid to rub delicately at the horizontal seam separating the medic's red abdominal plating from the white plating of his chassis. Bluestreak's helm tapped lightly against his collar.

They had stood like till the gunner's voice cut the silence. "Ratchet, you asked me to choose." Bluestreak's fingers rubbed at the seam, drawing a shudder from the larger mech's form. "You've given me more without giving me anything, than others I've shared everything with. Can I choose you? I promise I'll be good. Won't break anything. Clean up after I'm done." The gunner's hand on Ratchet's hip slipped lower tracing the line between the medic's red hip and white thigh.

Ratchet's hands tightened on the edge of the berth and the wet rag in his hand. The door to the medbay slid open and a soot covered Wheeljack entered, holding his detached right arm in his left hand. The inventor gave a joking wave with the limb, and somehow, much to Ratchet's temporary confusion, Bluestreak had managed to disengage himself from the larger mech's form and apparently before Wheeljack had the opportunity to notice the placement of the gunner's hands. Ratchet cycled air and began to work on his friend as Bluestreak cheerfully dismissed himself. "Wouldn't have offered if I thought you'd be trouble…" He muttered under his breath only to make to dismiss Wheejack's question as to what he said.

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It was amazing to Ratchet how one mech could virtually become impossible to locate on a ship the size of the Ark. Teletraan I had said the gunner was on the premises, but without contacting Red Alert or whoever was assigned to monitor duty he wasn't going to be provided with an exact location. Though he had the authority to get that information without being questioned he knew it would create some. After the Praxian had left the medbay upon Wheeljack's appearance he hadn't seen the younger mech. He calmly decided to wait. He knew that post battle checks, which were required to ensure the condition of their crewmembers would eventually bring the gunner to him.

He hadn't expected the post battle check to be three days after the next battle when the medbay was all but deserted. Ratchet had been wrist deep in a mobile defense dock that had been recently retrieved from the belly of the Ark that was still periodically being excavated, and when the large door to the medbay had slid open he called for the mech to wait a second and he'd be able to work with him but it didn't appear that the other seemed to listen well. The light pedefalls continued and arms once again wrapped around his middle.

"I'm here for my post battle check." Bluestreak's voice was quiet, and unlike the previous time he didn't let his hands wander delicately.

"First off I can't do that with you behind me, no matter how skilled I am. Secondly don't make yourself scarce after suggesting certain activities. It's a good way to make someone either pissed, or think that you've taken back the offer." He worked to extract his hands from the damaged dock as the smaller form seemed to pull them closer together.

"Things came up. I had a couple assignments, you had work to do, and I was nervous. You aren't exactly the most approachable mech." Although Ratchet couldn't see the gunner he could hear the inflection that signified a smile or at least a smirk. He finally drew his hands as grime covered as they were from the contraption and left them sit on it for a moment.

"You seemed to be doing a damn fine job of it before." The medic managed to turn in the other's hold as to be able to look at the younger mech. He reached for a towel that was to his right, only to have Bluestreak unwrap an arm from around him and lean further to retrieve it for him.

"You never did answer my question from the other day. I mean I guess you don't have to answer… but it took me a while to come to that conclusion. Hound suggested it almost. I'm not really sure how to go about it. You care for everyone. I know I'm just another Autobot to you, but you're a hell of a lot scarier than my demons and you hate this war as much as I do." Bluestreak rested his helm against the glass of Ratchet's front as he tightened his arms shyly. "I've tried hard to forget what happened to me, yet remember what happened to my home, and when I think about it, what happened to my home isn't much different than what happened to the whole planet. It was a quick shot to the cranium instead of a slow laserknife through the internals." Ratchet had wiped his hands and tossed the towel back on the table. One of his hands came to rest on Bluestreak's helm, his thumb tracing the line of the red chevron. "I keep fighting with rage over what happened. I hate them. I hate the Decepticons but before the war… They were our neighbors or at least could've been. You know what I mean anyways."

"I understand what you're saying but staying on track what does this have to do with you pursuing me?" Ratchet's optical ridge rose in confusion as he looked down at the mech against him. As healthy as it was to self-disclose from time to time this was something he wished that had actually come up during one of their periodic appointments.

"Well… I guess 'cause you understand, right? You won't pat me on the back for a good shot, 'cause you know what a good shot means. You aren't violent… well most of the time." The younger mech looked up at him with a terribly innocent smile. "You know why I talk so much, and just sometimes I seem to catch the peace you carry. Just a little bit, and you wouldn't believe how comforting that is. You're confident, and you care, and I don't have to explain what happened. You already know, and I don't have to worry about that. I don't know what I'm looking for when I'm in your care… but you've already given me some peace. Every time I rest here I feel safe, and it's 'cause of you. Do you know how long it's been since I felt that way? I thought I'd never have that again after Praxus. I thought it was-" Ratchet's hand that had been resting against the berth behind him shifted, gentle fingers silencing the other mech as they pressed lightly on the gunner's grey lips.

The medic's own lips curled up in a small smile and he touched the crest of his helm to Bluestreak's. "Bluestreak, you're making yourself nervous." The minute nod from the younger mech caused his helm to nod as well. "We'll see how this goes alright? If you're sure about it, I can't say I don't like sports cars." Ratchet removed his fingers from the other's lips and allowed his hand to travel down the sleek mech's side to the dark hip plate. "Now, I believe I have to check you for injuries?"

It wasn't the most professional health check, but it was certainly thorough, and left Bluestreak with overly bright optics and heated systems. After he'd been led over to a worktable and prompted to sit on it, Ratchet's hands slid smoothly over his plating feeling for inconsistency, for gouges in the metal, for weak points, checking temperature to perhaps sense any internal damage. They lingered at the joints, delving in to cautiously probe the sensitive areas, drawing a rev from the Datsun's engine with each deliberate invasion. It was Ratchet's first serious time to consider the younger mech in this fashion. His hands were slow, and thorough...barely less intrusive than a lover's. Bluestreak made a soft sound, lifting his chin and baring his neck components, the motion shifting something almost primitive within him, something that lurked seductively at the edges of his most basic programming.

Neither had noticed the brief visitor, as Ratchet leaned forward, allowing himself to kiss the other's accessible vocalizer. He tried to keep his processor on the task, but Bluestreak's willingness to allow this to become something more was affecting him. His hands ran once more down the gunner's sides before he managed to step back both physically and mentally. He cleared his own vocalizer before speaking. "I'm going to suggest recalibrating your right knee eventually, sooner rather than later if it's the one you tend to drop on to ready a shot."

Bluestreak raised a hand silently, fingertips touching his neck where the medic's lips had been. He nodded, acknowledging the potential need for repairs. Neither of them had wanted it to end where it had, and an awkward silence filled the medbay, spurring the Praxian to speak with all the tact his city had been known for. "Maybe next time we should do this in your office."

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TL;DR version

Ratchet: D Quit being the resident whore.

Bluestreak: Can I just be your whore then?

Ratchet: ¬¬ I guess.


End file.
